Joe's Perspective
by Animorphgirl
Summary: Joe's take at the end of "One For the Money". Continues a little after the book's ending. CUPCAKE.


Four days had passed since my arrest. For two of those days, I'd sat in a jail cell, waiting for the evidence Stephanie Plum had uncovered to be examined by forensic scientists. At the end of the second day, my boss unlocked the key to my cell and called me into his office.

To make a very long story short, between the evidence in the van and the recordings from Steph, there was no doubt that I was completely innocent. As a newly confirmed innocent person, I got cleared of all charges and was fully reinstated. I even got paid for the time I'd spent on the run. They called it "retroactive", since I'd technically been working when I'd been in hiding. It was _almost_ worth the trouble I'd been through.

Then again, it had also given me a chance to meet up with Steph on various occasions—rat that she'd been—so maybe it had been more than _almost _worth it.

Of course, I also got a slap on the wrist for hiding out from the cops and not showing up to my court date. It was basically a verbal warning from my boss, telling me not to pull anything like that again. Right, like I had any plans to do that in the future.

On the third day after my arrest, I got a much needed haircut and did some checking up on Stephanie. I'd expected to find out that she'd been going crazy on a shopping spree, spending the ten thousand dollars on new clothes and much needed furniture. Instead, I learned from the official report, loaned to me by Eddie Gazaara, that Jimmy Alpha had been waiting for Steph at her apartment and had planned to unleash Ramirez on her before killing her with his own hands. That unleashed a whole new set of emotions, ranging from anger to my not having been there to protect Stephanie, to a bizarre sense of pride that she'd been able to fend for herself in an awful situation. The report had stated that Steph had shot Alpha in self defense, after he'd told her what he'd been up to with Ramirez and Carmen. Alpha had also told Steph that he planned to set Ramirez loose on her, to inflict all sorts of bodily and mental harm, before killing her off himself. That had been when Steph had thrown caution to the wind and, literally, fought for her life.

Yeah, there was definitely a sense of pride there. Stephanie Plum hadn't acted like a damsel in distress, naïve though she was about the criminal world.

When I'd read the report, I'd felt the familiar sense of guilt I get whenever I feel like I could have done something to change the outcome. This doesn't happen very much, since my cop instincts are usually dead on. But the best cop instincts in the world can't prevent people from getting killed. In this case, though, I felt sort of let down. My cop instincts had told me that Alpha wasn't as innocent as he'd wanted people to believe, but even I hadn't suspected his level of involvement with Carmen and the illegal drug operation. Just reading about what Stephanie had to deal with on the same day of my arrest sent a huge wave of guilt through my stomach. If I'd been able to get her back to her apartment safely, maybe convince her to wait a day before turning in the evidence, I'd have been there when Alpha broke into her apartment. Her life would have been in danger, sure, but Alpha would have had me to contend with.

Me, and a whole bunch of my cop friends.

I knew, deep down, that my refusal to cooperate with Stephanie had been a stupid decision, but based on the belief that my life would be better outside of prison—even on the run—than inside of a jail cell. It had been a stupid move, and I'd been lucky to get off with just a slap on the wrist.

Not that I'd tell Steph this…well, not right away.

Today marked the fourth day since my arrest, and I decided to stop by Steph's apartment to see how she was doing. I stopped by Pino's pizza and got an extra large pizza. I would use it as a peace offering. If she let me into her apartment.

That was a big "if".

I paid for the pizza at Pinos, getting one with all of Steph's favorite toppings, and then drove to her apartment. My mind was still working on comprehending the events of the past several days. At this point, I felt more sorry for Steph than annoyance at her trick. I mean, she just couldn't seem catch a break. She'd survived the encounter with Alpha, shooting him in self defense, and the cops had arrested Ramirez, who was now waiting for his trial in a dirty jail cell with _no_ chance of getting out through bail. Good. Steph and the other woman would be a lot safer once they knew that he was in jail permanently. My fingers twitched as I imagined doing the world a favor by removing his neck from his body. No chance of that while he was in prison. Ramirez should feel grateful about that.

I took the elevator up to her floor, even though she only lived on the second floor and it wouldn't have been much of a climb. I guessed I wanted to avoid the chance of interaction with her neighbors as much as I could.

I took a deep breath and transferred the pizza to my left hand as I raised my right one to knock on the door. She'd certainly taken her safety seriously. There were two dead bolts on the door, even though I only remembered there being one the last time I'd been inside her apartment. Alpha must have really scared Steph. My hand hovered inches from the door for about thirty seconds, before I got up the nerve to make my hand knock.

_Just relax, _I told myself.

I heard jumping and a loud gasp Stephanie heard the noise. Again, not the response I'd been expecting. A few seconds later, and I could see Stephanie peering at me from the peep hole. I couldn't see enough of her face to see her reaction, but I could hazard a pretty good guess.

I tried smiling and gave a mini wave with my free hand. Steph didn't do anything for a few seconds, and then I heard her unlock the two dead bolts. She opened the door a few inches, and I could see that she left the chain in place.

Cripes, she must _really_ be freaked out from the events of the last few days.

"Yes?" she greeted. Her tone sounded clipped and tense.

My heart skipped a beat—or several—when I got a good look at her. All of the familiar emotions were back. Anger, pride, concern, and definitely lust. Yeah, there was a fair amount of that last one. In many ways, I felt like that eighteen year old kid in the Tasty Pastry shop, having gotten up my nerve to talk to Steph after years of squelching any desire to be with her.

"Take the chain off," I requested, smile still in place.

I watched Steph scan the floor suspiciously, eyebrows narrowing in concentration, as though I was hiding Ramirez a few feet away.

"_Why?_"

Oh, great. She was bent on making this difficult.

"Because I brought you a pizza," I explained patiently, "and if I tip it on end to give it to you, the cheese will slide off."

Steph's attention fixed on the pizza box in my other hand. No doubt, she was going over the benefits of accepting a free pizza over the potential danger of facing me again.

"Is it a Pinos pizza?" she asked, still not smiling.

"Of _course_ it's a Pinos pizza," I retorted.

She shifted her weight to her other foot, and I remembered the report saying that she'd needed stitches. I couldn't recall if the report had said where the injury had occurred. Based on how she was standing, it was probably on one of her legs. I hoped that Steph's doctor had given her painkillers because they're a pain even if you're in a position to sit around and do nothing until they can come out.

She shot me another glance, like she expected me to say "Just kidding", charge through the door, tackling her to the ground.

"_Why_ are you bringing me pizza?"

I gave a small shrug. _I wanted to make sure you were okay._

Not that I could tell her _that._ "I don't know. I just felt like it." I paused. "Are you going to open the door, or what?"

Steph raised her eyebrows again and focused on the box. I noticed that she looked paler than the last time I'd seen her. "I haven't decided," she admitted.

I just smiled. "Are you afraid of me?"

I meant it as a joke, but Steph seemed to take the question seriously. Enough to give it a few seconds of consideration.

"Um…yes," she admitted.

Probably, if I'd been a better guy, I'd have told her that she had no reason to be afraid of me. That there was no way I'd hurt her after everything I'd put her through—directly or indirectly. Unfortunately, I wasn't perfect, and a part of me was still pretty ticked off that she'd been able to drag my butt off to jail by trapping me in a refrigerator. Okay, so I guessed that this had been—at least, in part—revenge for my handcuffing her to her shower curtain rod. Still, I hadn't turned down the temperature in her apartment so that she'd practically froze to death.

A small part of me told myself that she'd only kept my locked up long enough to transport me to the jail, and while I'd been pretty chilly, I hadn't been in any danger of freezing to death. Also, if she'd turned up the temperature _too_ much, the evidence would have gotten contaminated.

Still, it was easier, at that moment, to take out my remaining frustration about what had happened to Stephanie on…well, on Steph. Even if I'd feel really guilty about it later that night. Maybe not so much later, if she ended up slamming the door in my face.

"You should be," I told her. "You _locked_ me in a refrigerator truck with three dead people. Sooner or later, I'm going to get you for it."

Steph eyed the pizza box again, and I wondered if she'd eaten anything that day. "But not tonight?"

A stab of guilt shot through me, and I decided to put her fears to rest. "No, not tonight," I admitted.

Probably not _ever_, but I wasn't feeling up to admitting that so soon. Maybe I'd tell her in a week or so.

Steph shut the door, and at first I thought I'd blown my chance at reconciliation, but then I heard her remove the chain and open the door again. She stepped aside so I could enter the apartment. As soon as I did, I noticed that it still looked much the same as it had on the occasions I'd visited previously. I imagined that the stitches had prevented her from going on that shopping spree I'd envisioned.

I took the pizza box and the beer and set it down on her kitchen counter. I turned to examine Steph fully. She was wearing a pair of stretch pants that were looser than her usual pair of jeans, but still showed off her curves nicely. Her tank top wasn't super low cut, but I could see the outline of her breasts. Still, she also looked pretty pale and moved slowly. I wondered if the pain medication I assumed she was on was making her tired.

"Looks like you're walking a little slow," I commented. "How are you feeling?"

Steph tried to smile, but didn't quite succeed. "Okay." Then, "Fortunately, Alpha's bullet tore through some fat and did most of its damage to the wall on the hallway."

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see where the bullet had grazed the wall, but I kept most of my attention fixed on Stephanie. I knew that my smile had faded as I'd taken in Steph's appearance.

"How are you _really_ feeling?" I asked, trying to sound gentle. I wasn't good with this kind of thing, but if Steph wanted to open up about whatever trauma she'd gone through with Alpha (okay, so she hadn't been raped, but she'd been through mental hell) I wanted to be there for her.

Steph tried to take in a deep breath, but didn't quite succeed. She chewed on her lip, and I could see the tears forming in her eyes. A minute later, and she was quietly sobbing, practically shaking with the effort to pull herself together.

I reached out and put my arms around her, fully prepared to let go if Steph showed any sign of not wanting physical affection. But she leaned towards me, so I wrapped my arms around her in an embrace. I noticed that Steph seemed to relax the second my arms touched her shoulders. Even better, her arms wrapped themselves around me within seconds of my pulling her into a hug. That was good. I pulled her closer towards me, breathing in deeply. She smelled amazing. Still, it took Steph awhile to stop crying, so I just held her close to me. After several minutes, the sobs ceased, so I felt comfortable enough to prop my cheek against her head. I even planted a kiss on her head. Steph rested her head against my chest and snuggled into my shirt, letting out a contented sigh.

She seemed so young then. Not that thirty was all that old, but it was like she was sixteen again. Maybe it was the calm that was showing up in her face. I briefly wondered if Steph looked like that when she slept. I didn't want to let go of her, or feel her let go of me. At first, she seemed to be holding onto me like I was some lifejacket and she was drowning, but her grip on me had loosened a little in the moments since. Standing there, holding me, and being held by Steph, felt amazing. I didn't want to let go of her—ever. I just wanted to stay there and protect her. Sure, we'd have to eat and sleep at some point, but until then…

We must have stood like that for at least fifteen minutes. Neither of us seemed to want to let go, but at some point, I felt Steph shift her weight from one foot to the other, and suspected that her stitches were giving her some trouble. Still, I didn't want to let her go in case she wanted to stay close to me. I tried to think of something to say that would take her mind off of the discomfort she had to be feeling.

"If I ask you a serious question," I began, speaking into her ear, "would you give me an honest answer?"

Steph didn't look up at me. "Maybe," she murmured.

"Do you…remember that time in my father's garage?" I began.

I could see the hint of a smile on her face. "Vividly."

"And…when we went at it in the bakery?" I continued.

Steph nodded, face getting that confused look. No doubt, she was wondering where this was going. "Uh huh…"

"Well, why did you do it?" Seeing as she didn't answer right away, I plunged onward, fully aware I might be digging my own grave. "Are my powers of persuasion really _that_ strong?" I teased.

Steph tipped back her head to look me in the eye. "I suspect," she began, "that it had more to do with curiosity and rebellion on my part."

"So, you're willing to share _some_ of the responsibility?"

"Of course," she murmured, still watching me.

I could feel myself starting to smile. "And…if I made love to you here in the kitchen…well, how much of _that_ blame would you be willing to assume?"

Stephanie withdrew from my arms, crossed her arms over her chest, and rolled her eyes at me. "Jesus, Morelli!" she complained. "I've got _seventeen_ stitched in my _ass_!"

Ouch. Okay, that was worse than I'd suspected. Guessed I couldn't blame Steph for not wanting sex under those conditions.

Still, I had to act like I was disappointed, so I sighed before continuing with my next question. "Do you think that we could be friends after all of these years?"

Steph took a minute to consider this. "I _suppose_ that it's possible," she admitted. "But, we wouldn't have to sign a pact and seal it in blood, would we?"

"No," I agreed, the image of us doing so creeping me out a little, "but we _could_ belch over beer."

Steph smiled. A genuine smile. "My kind of contract."

"Good."

I smiled back at her, feeling both pleased and, strangely enough, a little let down. Sure, I wanted friendship with her, but I wanted _so_ much more than that. Still, we had to take things slowly, even if it was driving me crazy in the meantime.

There was a pause, and I decided to change the subject. "Now that we have that settled, there's a ball game I'd like to see, and you have my television."

I half expected to Steph to call me out on this, given that I had another TV and a pretty nice home entertainment system in my apartment. But she didn't.

"Men always have ulterior motives," she commented, dryly, taking the pizza from the counter and moving it to the living room.

I gathered the beer and followed her. "So, how do you manage this sitting business?" I wondered aloud.

Steph narrowed her eyes at me and pointed to something that looked like a plastic floatation device small kids put around their stomachs when they were just starting to learn to swim.

"I have a rubber doughnut. If you make any cracks about it, I'll gas you."

Fair enough. I removed my jacket and shoulder holster, hanging them up on the doorknob to Steph's bedroom. I grabbed the remote, took a seat on the floor next to Stephanie—who was _not_ looking all that comfortable in her rubber doughnut/plastic swimming device—and began looking for the channel with the game.

"I got some reports for you," I told her, once I found the right station. "You up for it?"

Steph had already grabbed a slice of pizza from the box and was beginning to chew appreciatively.

"A half hour ago, I might have said no, but now that I have this pizza, I'm up for anything."

I smiled at Steph. "It's not the pizza, darling. It's my masculine presence."

She just raised an eyebrow at me, which I pretended not to see. "Well, first of all, the medical examiner said that you were due for the Robin Hood sharpshooter award. You got Alpha with _five_ rounds to the heart, all within an inch of each other. Pretty amazing, considering you also shot the shit out of your pocketbook."

Steph took a moment to process this, and then took a long sip of her beer. I followed suit, unsure if I should congratulate her on killing that scumbag, or reassure her that she'd done it in self defense and had no reason to feel guilty. She sure didn't seem pleased with my compliment, but rather, regretful of the decision she'd had to make.

"Do you think that it could have ended _any_ other way?" she asked, voice going soft.

I moved closer to her, but didn't feel comfortable enough to put an arm around her shoulder or give Steph another hug. That moment seemed to have passed. Too bad—I'd loved the feeling of Steph in my arms.

"No," I said, as gently as I knew how. "He _would_ have killed you if you hadn't killed him first."

Steph nodded, acknowledging the truth to my statement. We drank some more beer, and then I turned my attention to the game. The person up at bat—I'd momentarily forgotten who—struck out. It seemed to echo how things were between me and Steph.

"Shit," I commented, not really referring to the game. Then, I turned my attention back towards Stephanie and told her about the recorder and how it had gotten everything that had happened between Steph and Alpha. So there would be no question, at any point, that she'd acted in self defense.

"Dang," she murmured.

I grinned. "Sometimes, I'm so slick I scare myself."

Another eye roll. "Sure, slick enough not to be locked up in jail."

Not to be _still_ locked up, more likely. I selected a second slice of pizza and told Steph about how I'd been cleared of all charges and reinstated. I mentioned that I'd gotten paid for the time I'd been on the run, but conveniently left out the part about the verbal warning from my boss.

Steph took another deep breath and asked about Ramirez. I imagined that she must have been thinking about him for the better part of the last few days.

"He's being held, without bail, pending psychiatric evaluation. Now that Alpha is out of the picture, several _very_ credible women have come forward to testify against Ramirez."

In other words, it wouldn't matter if Lula chickened out. Ramirez would be in jail for a _long_ time, regardless. If he ever got out, he better leave the country if he wanted to stay alive.

"So, what are your plans?" I asked her. "You going to keep working for Vinnie?"

"I'm…not sure," she admitted, taking another bite of her second slice of pizza. "Probably." Another pause as she thought about this. "Almost definitely. Probably."

"Just to clear the air," I began, then chickened out. I wasn't ready to tell Steph I'd totally let her off the hook with the whole jail thing. Not yet. But I'd have to think of something to say, because she was looking at me expectantly. "I'm sorry I wrote that poem about you on the stadium wall when we were in high school."

Steph just stared at me. "On the _stadium_ wall?"

There was a long, very uncomfortable, pause. I could feel my face grow red. "Um, I thought you knew…"

"Yeah, I knew about Mario's sub shop!" she snapped.

For lack of anything better to say, I responded with a concise, "Oh."

"Are you telling me that you wrote a poem about _me_ on the _stadium wall?_ A poem detailing what transpired behind the éclair case?"

I stared at the floor, then realized I should probably get out of range should Steph decide to start hitting me. She sure looked mad enough.

"Would it help any if I told you the poem was flattering?"

This really set her off, because she started trying to get out of her rubber doughnut, and I debated whether I should try to make a run for it before she became fully vertical.

"It was years ago," I said, backing away from her. "Shit, Stephanie, it's unattractive to hold a grudge…"

"You are scum, Morelli. SCUM!"

I couldn't deny this. "Probably," I admitted. "But I give good…pizza?"

She just glared at me.

I couldn't tell if the glare was a "you better watch out because I WILL get you" glare or just a "I'm seriously ticked off at you, but I'll get over it" glare. Going by the fact that this was Steph, I decided to assume it was the former.

Besides, I did feel pretty bad about the poems. The one in the sub shop had stayed up for about a week, but I'd felt really guilty about the one in the stadium and had bribed (okay, blackmailed) Mooch into painting over it just two days after I'd written it. I guessed that I'd known I'd crossed a line by writing the poem in a totally public space.

'Course, I'd been drunk at the time, so I really hadn't been thinking. Not that this was an excuse.

I tried to make my eyes wide and innocent as I stared at Steph. Her face didn't seem to be on the full level rage mode, but I wanted to do damage control before it got there.

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I was a jerk back then."

Steph did an eye roll. I noticed that she did that a lot when she disagreed with something I had to say. I suspected that it had to do with Steph having the right retort on hand, but wanted to make it clear that she wasn't amused.

Evidently, the meaning here was that she still considered me somewhat of a jerk. Well, Steph had seen me at my worst over the past couple of weeks, and I considered myself to be a pretty decent person most of the time. Not that we'd had much interaction in the years between her hitting me with her father's Buick and my becoming FTA.

"Yeah, well…" She paused, digesting the fact that I'd admitted to this. "I still should have put the car in reverse and broken your other leg."

I didn't know how to respond to that comment without invoking more—albeit well deserved—anger. Not that I'd tell this to Stephanie anytime soon, but I'd more or less considered her breaking my leg to be a just punishment for what I'd put her through in high school. I probably shouldn't have had sex with her in the bakery and the poems had just added insult to injury. I'd gotten some grief from my mother and grandmother about my broken leg after the injury. In public, they blamed Stephanie for injuring me. To my face, they made it clear that I'd gotten exactly what I'd deserved. Truth be told, I think they were even kind of proud of her. Not many women physically assault Morelli men.

So, I just hung my head and looked repentant. Another skill I'd gotten from the male side of my family. Not that I condoned the cheating that most of my male relatives did, but one of the ways they got their girlfriends and wives to stay with them was by acting sorry afterwards. The key word here was "acting".

"I was kind of drunk at the time. I didn't even remember doing anything until some of the guys started quoting lines of it to me. Anyway," I added, seeing Steph's face redden, "I got Mooch to paint over it as soon as I found out what I'd done. It wasn't there for more than a few days."

_Which was probably why you didn't know about it until now_, I finished in my head. I'd made Mooch paint over the sign in the sub shop, but it being on private property made it more difficult to coordinate. Also, Mario had considered the entire incident to be profitable to his business, so he hadn't been all that thrilled about the poem being erased.

Jerk.

Steph just sighed and finished her slice of pizza. "Poor guy. Fourteen years later, and he's still doing your dirty work."

It didn't take a genius to figure out she was talking about the car.

"How'd you know?"

Steph made a grimace. "Because that was the night you broke into my apartment and handcuffed me to my shower curtain rod. I'd been standing behind some bushes the whole time, thinking that you'd try to steal back your car instead of sending your lackey."

I remembered that night. I'd been wanting to say something to Steph about it ever since it happened, since I'd known that it had crossed multiple lines. Probably, Steph could get me into major trouble if she reported the incident to the police, but I had a gut feeling that she wouldn't actually do this. Not just because it would mean admitting to having stolen my car (or "commandeered", as she'd referred to it), but she'd probably found the whole thing humiliating and something she'd wanted to forget. Maybe this was why I wanted to make things right between us on that end.

We sure had a lot of stuff to work through if we wanted anything resembling a friendship.

"Well, I figured you'd try to take me down if I went after it," I explained. "Hey, where'd you end up putting the distributor cap? I couldn't find it _anywhere_ in your apartment."

Steph smiled this time. "I actually left it outside."

Wow, she was better than I'd expected.

I nodded, and there was an awkward pause. I cleared my throat, figuring I might as well just get it over with.

"Look, I'm sorry about…you know…what I did afterwards."

The glare was back in full force. "I could have _died_, Morelli!" she practically shouted.

This sort of caught me off guard. "Wait…what?"

Steph began to count off ways on her fingers. "First of all, I didn't know if I had phone service until that night. One of the annoying things about being up to your eyeballs in debt is that they can turn off stuff like phone service and electricity. Second, which I'd _told_ you, I didn't have anyone who had a key to my apartment. Third, what it I'd dropped the phone and gotten electrocuted? Fourth, what if Ramirez had decided to come back and take care of me once and for all?" She shook her head in anger. "I get that you wanted your car back, but that was seriously low."

I didn't have any retorts to these scenarios in which Stephanie would end up dead.

"You're probably right," I admitted. "If it makes you feel any better…"

"…You'd feel _really_ guilty if I ended up dead," Steph finished prematurely. "Hell yeah, you would. I'd become a ghost and haunt you for the rest of your life, Joe Morelli."

I snickered. "You can do that plenty well without becoming a ghost, Steph."

A grin escaped Steph. "Yeah, don't forget it."

"Not likely. Anyway, this is what I was _going_ to say…" I waited, and Steph gave me a look like I better continue or she'd literally kick me out of her apartment, seventeen stitches in her butt and all. "Um, afterwards, I waited in my van until I saw you were okay. I was pretty sure you were going to be all right after I saw Ranger enter your building, but I didn't leave until I watched you shut your window and close the curtains." I allowed myself a smile. "You had on a cute bathrobe."

I hadn't been thrilled with her choice of people to call. Why hadn't she phoned Mary Lou? I could understand being too embarrassed to tell her parents or phone the police, but why would Steph have called a nearly complete stranger over someone she'd known all of her life?

Well, probably nothing had happened between Steph and Ranger. It wasn't something I wanted to spend much time thinking about. I'd done enough of that—and swearing—after I'd seen the results of my hasty actions.

"Hmph." It was evident that Steph couldn't stay _too_ angry in light of my confession. "And if he hadn't come and rescued me?"

"I told myself that if I didn't see evidence that you were okay one hour after I left, I'd come back and let you go," I replied.

Steph's face turned red as she processed this information. Or maybe it was just because she started chewing on her lip. "Why didn't you just let me go after you were finished trashing my apartment?"

"Because I was afraid you'd claw my face apart," I admitted.

"I'm not a cat!" she hissed at me, and I swear, I saw her eyes go narrow like a cat's before they're about to attack.

I raised my hands. "You did _throw_ a bottle of shampoo at me earlier."

She had good aim, too.

"You _broke_ into my apartment and saw me _naked_!"

"Honey, it wasn't the first time!" I muttered, ducking and covering my head as she slammed her fist against the side of my skull. "OUCH! You have anger issues." Once Steph had resumed her sitting position in the plastic floatation device, I looked up. "Anyway, what I'm trying to say is, I'm sorry."

Steph did another hmph. "Sorry enough not to get even with me for getting you arrested?"

"I guess…okay, yeah. I guess that makes us about even."

"We're not even _close _to being even," Steph informed me. "But I'm too tired to argue with you tonight."

I glanced at my watch. "It's not even 9:00."

Steph shrugged. "It's been a long night."

It occurred to me that Steph probably hadn't been sleeping well since before her encounter with Alpha. No wonder she looked pale.

"Want me to keep you company?" I offered.

"You're not spending the night."

I shook my head. "I could just stay until you fell asleep."

Maybe a little longer than that. Make sure she wasn't having any nightmares.

"We're not having sex," she warned me.

"I'll settle for making out," I told her, standing up and helping her out of the rubber donut. "Do you need this?"

Steph shook her head. "I'm going to get ready for bed. Don't come in until I open the door."

"I won't," I promised, giving her a kiss on top of the head. "I'll put the rest of the pizza away."

There were still five slices left.

Ten minutes later, Steph let me into her bedroom, wearing a long cotton nightgown with pretty yellow flowers all over it. It was pretty much something you'd see from one of those shows like "Little House on the Prairie." Not that I watched those shows, but my sisters had, and what Steph wore was pretty similar to what they'd worn to bed. Fashions didn't change much in the Burg.

It didn't totally hide the curve of her breasts, or her slim figure. Also, the flowers kind of brought out the color in Steph's eyes. If anyone could pull off a granny nightgown, she could.

Her bedroom was small, with the bed taking up a good portion of the space. No TV or books. Steph probably did a lot of tossing and turning on the nights she had trouble falling asleep. Or headed into her living room to watch TV. I wondered if she once had a couch there before she'd resorted to selling off her furniture. I'd have to ask around and see if anyone had a couch they no longer needed. Well, maybe not. Steph might not want to take charity.

Steph pulled some of the covers away from her bed and flopped down on her stomach. Her head sort of perched itself to the side to prevent certain death by suffocation. I took a seat next to her and moved a piece of stray hair away from her face.

"So…you usually sleep like this?" I asked, pulling the blankets over her shoulders.

"I usually sleep on my back, but the stitches make that kind of difficult," she explained. "So, I've been trying to sleep like this."

"I thought most people sleep on their sides," I commented.

Steph wrinkled her nose. "I always fall off the bed when I try that."

I raised my eyebrows at the mental image. "Is this is comfortable?"

Steph did another eye roll. "It's better than waking up on the floor _with_ an aching butt."

She had a point there. "Want me to turn off the lights?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

I turned off the switch and settled down next to her, wrapping an arm around Steph's back. Her breathing began to slow, and she was asleep within minutes.

I was about to let go of her and make my way out of her room when she began shaking uncontrollably and started yelling in her sleep. I turned on the light and held her close to me.

"Shh, it's okay," I murmured.

She calmed down, and I wondered if Steph was still sleeping. Her eyes opened and she looked around, evidently confused.

"W-what happened? Where am I?" She began to cry, so I just held her close to me, and her arms attached themselves to my back.

"You were having a nightmare," I explained, smoothing her hair with one hand. "You're safe now."

"Oh."

She sounded sort of like a little kid, so I just held her for awhile. Gradually, her grip on her back loosened, and I helped Steph back into her sleeping on her stomach position. I settled myself next to her and began to rub her shoulders.

"Is this okay?" I asked.

She nodded a little, so I continued doing this. Steph was facing me, eyes still open, but before long, they got a glazed look to them as she became more relaxed.

"I'm right here, Cupcake," I told her, still massaging her back. "It's okay. No one's going to hurt you."

Her eyes began to close again. "That feels good," she murmured.

I leaned over to plant a kiss on her forehead. "Want me to stay the night?" I asked again.

I would, even if it meant not getting a ton of sleep. I didn't want to leave Steph like that. But she just shook her head.

"Just until I fall asleep," she murmured.

She fell asleep shortly afterwards, and this time, she didn't have any nightmares. I stayed by her side for a couple of hours, and then forced myself to get out of her comfortable bed so I wouldn't fall asleep as well. Since Steph had told me, twice, that she didn't want me to be there when she want up, I figured it would be best to give her some space. I tucked the blankets in around her up to her neck, smoothed back her hair, and gave her a final kiss on the top of her head.

"Sweet dreams, Cupcake," I whispered, pausing a moment longer than necessary before heading out the door.


End file.
